


Green Apples and Drizzled Caramel

by artsy_hoe



Series: Harry Potter Characters and Their Mental Maladies [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baking, Crying, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Desi Harry Potter, Domestic Fluff, Drabbles, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Teddy Lupin, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Moving On, Non-Linear Narrative, Teen parent, and so is Harry, because I said so, but it's a lot better than the last one, cause draco's 18, no bigotry, okay i lied it isn't super fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsy_hoe/pseuds/artsy_hoe
Summary: The months after the war simultaneously trickled like molasses and whipped by.  Draco floated through it like a wraith as he buried his mother, his father, his aunts, his cousin, his godfather, and his friends.  Narcissa Malfoy had always been a strong woman, but watching her husband and her sister get the kiss and then their throats slit had been far too much.  As the remaining member of Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks’ family, he buried them too.  While he hadn’t known them all that well, it still pained him to lower their caskets that contained Tonk’s colorless body and Andromeda’s wan one.  Draco blew out the candles on a tiny cake alone in the middle of the mansion in the dark for his 18th birthday.  He didn’t eat the cake, he couldn’t stomach it, and for the first time since he buried his mother, Draco cried.Then there was the child.Edward Lupin.*The first chapter is the actual story, and every other chapter is fluffy drabbles*
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Eventual Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Teddy Lupin & Draco Malfoy, Teddy Lupin & Harry Potter
Series: Harry Potter Characters and Their Mental Maladies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943716
Comments: 16
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is pretty fluffy, not super angsty, but it wouldn't be me if I didn't try and make you cry so... here you go! This is mostly focused on healing and moving on.

The months after the war simultaneously trickled like molasses and whipped by. Draco floated through it like a wraith as he buried his mother, his father, his aunts, his cousin, his godfather, and his friends. Narcissa Malfoy had always been a strong woman, but watching her husband and her sister get the kiss and then their throats slit had been far too much. As the remaining member of Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks’ family, he buried them too. While he hadn’t known them all that well, it still pained him to lower their caskets that contained Tonk’s colorless body and Andromeda’s wan one. 

  
Pansy had died in the war, struck with a hex so vile the healers wouldn’t let him know what it was, just that she had died and she needed someone to pay the burial fees. Crabbe’s body was never retrieved, so he, with a heavy heart, informed his mother (Crabbe’s father had met the same fate as Lucius Malfoy and every other adult Death Eater) that her son had died. Draco was one of three who went to the funeral. As the only living person with any connection to Uncle Severus at all, he buried him too. Nobody else attended the funeral. 

Draco blew out the candles on a tiny cake alone in the middle of the mansion in the dark for his 18th birthday. He didn’t eat the cake, he couldn’t stomach it, and for the first time since he buried his mother, Draco cried. He sat at the end of the dining table and wept. He wept for his mother, who did her best. He wept for his father, who just continued the cycle of abuse and shame and darkness. He wept for everyone he had hurt as a Death Eater, as a bully, and as a blood-supremacist. Most of all, he wept for himself. 

Draco wept for the little boy he once was. Before Hogwarts, before the war, before his father sat him down and poisoned his mind with hate at age 11. He wept for little Draco, who played with Dobby, baked cookies with his mother, and loved to learn. He wept for the little Ravenclaw inside him who was smashed to smithereens by expectations. Most of all, he wept for the little boy who thought his father could protect him, and his mother would always be there for him. 

Draco didn’t go in public anymore (he was met with hexes and curses and other such treatments), so the Aurors, Mind Healers, and Ministry Officials met at his house to figure out what reparations he was to pay. They settled on taking 75% of his money and assets, leaving him with a liveable amount of money, a sizable property in France, and a modest cottage in Wales. He completed his NEWTS with a group of seven others ranging in age and received O’s on all but History of Magic and Transfiguration (he got E’s on those). There was also the small issue of the child. 

Edward Lupin. 

As Teddy’s last remaining family (however distantly), Draco Malfoy was in a custody battle with the Chosen One. Normally, he would have given up, but Draco could tell Potter was in no way fit to care for a child. 

Neither was Draco, but that was beside the point. 

Potter lived in a filthy, squalid home infused with the darkest of magic. Potter was also engaged to the girl Weasley who was clearly disillusioned with the idea of adopting a war orphan. That wasn’t to say she wouldn’t love and care for Teddy as if he was her own, but she was 17, she wanted her own family, and she definitely didn’t want it now. Potter also was very mentally unsound (so was Draco, but he could admit it; Potter acted like everything was fine). 

To conclude, Potter was horribly unfit to raise Teddy. The 18-month-old needed a home soon, though, and Draco needed Potter to concede so he could adopt Teddy. Sure, Draco was mourning all of his loved ones, and he was an Ex-Death Eater, but he knew how to deal with things and compartmentalize. Potter did too, but not quite as well and surely not all the time as Draco was accustomed to doing. 

This custody battle had gone on for quite some time as no one wanted to be the one to tell the Savior of the Wizarding World that he was an unfit parent. To add to the struggle, no one wanted to give a Death Eater a child because he could be ‘tainted’ (even though Draco had already paid reparations and had nothing and no one). Eventually, someone had to give, and it wasn’t going to be Draco, so Potter had to yield. 

Draco could have gone on for some time, but Teddy desperately needed a stable home, and Draco was more than willing to provide it. So, Draco made a decision. 

_ Dear Potter,  _

_ As you have probably gathered, I am not backing down in this custody battle. Merlin, that makes us sound like a divorced couple--that’s beside the point. I am writing you this letter to invite you to tea to discuss which one should raise Teddy. Don’t worry; it isn’t at the Manor--that was seized as war reparations. I am cordially inviting you to tea at the Calandra Cottage tomorrow at three. Attached to this letter is a portkey. Do be on time. This is your only chance to win me over and convince me that you can provide a loving, healthy home for Teddy.  _

_ Regards,  _

_ Draco Malfoy _

The only option now was to wait as Draco let his owl Papillon out to deliver the letter. He was unsure of what to do with himself since he rarely had free time. Usually, he would paint, but he lacked any inspiration. He didn’t feel like reading (that reminded him of late nights with his mother in the library), he didn’t want to play chess (that reminded him of Blaise), Draco didn’t want to eat (he didn’t deserve to eat), and he couldn’t fathom ever getting back on a broom after what had happened with Crabbe. His eyes wandered around the small cottage, trying to figure out what to do. 

Draco had only moved in four days ago, and it already felt more like home than anywhere else had. His room had powder-blue walls, gingham bed-spreads, and art all over the walls. During the war, he had taken to painting and had amassed quite a few finished pieces that he found pride in. Draco couldn’t bear to put up pictures of anyone, so he adorned the walls throughout the cottage with his artwork. 

In the living room, there was a matching set of plush furniture, and the paintings depicted all different flowers. The dining room contained a small walnut table, matching chairs, and hand-painted china dishes that Draco had purchased on a whim while buying furniture. 

By far, his favorite room in the whole house was the kitchen (the study/library and the guest bedroom were far more boring). It was full of bright colors, mismatched cooking supplies, and lovely flowers in vases. When Draco entered the room, it was like he was being hugged. Perhaps he could bake for Potter. Draco wasn’t likely to eat (he hadn’t eaten anything more than an apple in two days), but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bake for someone else. 

Summoning an old cookbook he had inherited from Uncle Severus, he flipped through the yellowed pages. Landing on his favorite recipe, he began to gather the ingredients. The muffin tin he owned didn’t match the madeleines’ shape, so he quickly transfigured it to fit. Draco melted the butter and set a quick whipping charm on the eggs and sugar. Mixing flour, salt, and baking powder, he remembered the last time he had made madeleines. 

It was with Uncle Severus and Mother the Easter break of his second year. Father had been at the ministry, and Draco wanted to surprise him with something, so Mother roped in Uncle Severus to bake some cookies. Uncle Severus had conjured his old cookbook, and they spent the afternoon making madeleines. 

Draco delicately folded the flour mixture into the eggs and sugar and took a deep breath. He pushed the memory away before it soured with the happenings of later in the day. He didn’t want to recall how he had gotten flour all over, and his mother laughed, and Uncle Severus smiled, and his father had come back and admonished him, crushing his happiness. And he most definitely didn’t want to recall how his father looked down distastefully at the slightly burnt madeleines and said it was unbecoming of a Malfoy to bake, much less bake imperfect food. 

He shook his head and focused on pouring the melted butter into his batter. Left three times, right three times. Make sure to scrape the sides and bottoms. Draco cast a chilling charm and let it sit for 45 minutes. He could have just brought it down to the correct temperature, but he wasn’t in a hurry, and the results were always better when he didn’t rush. 

Draco went out to the back of the house and sat on the swing porch. He never thought he would end up here, but if he didn’t lie to himself, Draco was happy this is where he ended up. When he was young, before Hogwarts, he wanted to be a Potions Master like Uncle Severus. During Hogwarts, he imagined himself as a politician like his father: smooth-talking and suave. And amid the war, all he could think of was getting to the next day, not getting his mother killed, and not giving any reason for his father to  _ Crucio  _ him. Huh. He hadn’t thought about that in a while. 

His father. 

Lucius Malfoy was not a loving man, but he was by no means a needlessly cruel father. Till Draco’s Hogwarts letter, he was caring and present, and even during Hogwarts, he was cold and distant and a purist, but he was never like he was in the war. He had never cast a  _ Crucio  _ on Draco before the war. He had never yelled at Draco the way he had (vile, foul, loathsome words that cut worse than the  _ Sectumsempra  _ Potter cast). And Father certainly had never raised his cane as he did in the final months of the war. 

Taking a shuddering breath, Draco looked out at the rolling hills. There was plenty of green space for a garden. That was an appealing thought—a garden. Draco had never gardened before (Malfoys didn’t dirty their hands), but he wasn’t opposed to the idea, especially since it meant he had to see less of other people. It would mean something he would have to get up for in the morning. Something that needed him. Like Teddy might. 

As if summoned, Papillon swooped into Draco’s vision and dropped a letter. It was a dirty thing, smeared ink on the back. Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste and proceeded to open and read the message. 

_ Malfoy,  _

_ Thanks for the invite. I’ll be there. I’m not backing down either. Teddy doesn’t need your blood purity bullshit.  _

_ -Harry _

Draco blinked. He shouldn’t be this bothered by this, but it stung to be dismissed so harshly by someone he had so desperately wanted the approval of for years. It was true at one point, yes, but he knew better now. Draco once was a blood-purist but seeing his father torture, kill, and die for those ideals had quickly changed his viewpoint. He had paid war reparations, he had buried his family, and he lost everything in the war. What else was he supposed to do?? What did Potter want from him??

A thought hit him. Potter hadn’t seen him since the final battle, on the other side. The papers had covered everything, sure, but Draco would bet his last galleon that Potter didn’t read the Daily Prophet what with all that had happened his 5th year. Potter barely looked at him in the courtroom and probably didn’t even know his mother was dead. He didn’t know anything. 

Well, Draco would sure surprise Potter tomorrow with his countryside cottage, fresh cookies, watercolor paintings, and newly covered dark mark. That had been an impulsive spur of the moment decision while he was at Hogwarts helping fix the building (more reparations), and he had sliced his forearm to shreds. Luna, kind, lovely Luna, had found him in the abandoned girl’s restroom and had healed him wordlessly. She then, with all the goodness of the world, offered to cover it because she was trying to become a magical tattooist. With pained eyes, Draco had accepted her response. She took out her wand and began casting enchantments. 

“What would you like?” She asked.

A beat passed. 

“Hyacinths. And narcissus’.” 

She merely smiled and began her whispering. Warm magic glazed over him like caramel, and she remarked, “I can’t fully cover it, but I can surround it with the flowers. Is that alright?”

Draco nodded tersely, and Luna continued. 

They hadn’t spoken again; maybe Draco should write to her. It would be nice to have a friend. Perhaps his first real one. His eyes fell back to the letter. Yes. He would show Potter that he had changed and was no longer the person he was in school. 

Heading back inside, he went straight to the kitchen. He ended the cooling charm before the butter congealed, cast a heating charm on his oven, and greased the tin. Draco evenly poured the batter into the baking molds and put them in the oven. He set a timer and went to paint. After Potter’s letter and his little introspection, he had quite the inspiration. 

It was beside the point that he was itching to take a blade to his forearm, but he didn’t want to ruin Luna’s work. He entered his bedroom and got out his art supplies. Sketching a little doodle on the paper, he translated his emotions to art. Draco lightened the pencil work and opened his watercolor set. In a nearby glass, he cast  _ Aguamenti.  _ Dabbing blue paint onto his brush, he outlined a square face, fluffy hair, and thin, rimmed glasses. He began lightly brushing paint under the cheekbones, around the nostrils, and on the lips. Draco added bright green to the eyes, light pink to the high points of the face, and purple on his scar. Potter looked just as he had from memory, but Draco had little time to stare at the Chosen One before his timer for the cookies went off. 

He slipped off his bed and walked to his kitchen, smelling the pleasant scent of baked goods. He levitated the madeleines out of the oven and placed them on the counter. They had risen perfectly, and Draco was very pleased with their light golden color. He cast a preservation charm on them so they wouldn’t go stale overnight and checked the time. It was a little after six, and his stomach made itself known.    
  


He knew he should eat, but it was so hard to muster up the enthusiasm. His stomach cramped painfully, and Draco knew he needed the energy to deal with Potter. He sighed and gathered some food to put together a small meal. A green apple, white cheddar cheese, and a baguette became dinner. 

It was still far too early to go to bed, so Draco cleaned up the kitchen and headed to the study. He had brought all the books over from the Malfoy Manor (the ones not seized by the Ministry), so determinedly not thinking of his mother, he searched for some gardening books. Occluding his mind from the memories, he grabbed the only three Herbology books on edible foods and sat in the only furniture he had brought from the Manor. 

It was his mother’s armchair and one of the only things he had left of her (he had pictures, yes, but those were in a charmed box with all of his photos in the cellar). He curled up in it, relishing the faint scent of her perfume, and began to read the books. Draco finished the first book (all on vegetables) and began to map out precisely what he would put in his garden. 

He planned for several hours, letting the comforting task take over his mind (organizing/planning always made him feel good; gave him control). Draco attacked the garden like it was a particularly nasty exam he needed to study for. There was a reason he had been second in all his classes except for Potions (he was first in that class); Draco was by no means unintelligent. 

By the time he was happy with his plan for the garden, the sun had long set, and it was nearing 11. Stifling a yawn, Draco cleared up the books and papers. He left the room feeling calm and sedate, occluding Potter’s visit tomorrow from his mind. He mindlessly walked through his evening routine and collapsed on his bed. 

Draco woke up the next morning refreshed and ready to take on the day. He hadn’t even had a nightmare, which was a first in years. Then he recalled that Potter was coming over at three, and it was like getting doused in ice water. His good mood soured, but he took it in stride. Draco skipped breakfast and went straight to the study. He wanted to redraw his plan for the garden on a large scale, so he knew exactly what he would do once it was time to start. 

Setting the alarm for 2 o’clock, Draco worked all morning and through the afternoon on his plan, inking it out on a large parchment. The pangs of hunger were easily ignored, as well as the itch to slice, slit, and lacerate his forearm. 

By the time 2 o’clock came around, Draco had finished his plan, and he had to get ready for Potter. He cleared away the papers, books, and ink with a flick of his wand and left the study to go to the kitchen. 

He checked the madeleines, and they were perfectly preserved to the right temperature. A thought came across his mind. Draco should make caramel to go with the madeleines. His mother was an elegant, proper woman who never ate anything in a messy way, with the exception of caramel and madeleines. She would pick the little cakes (cookies?) with her fingers and dip them into caramel, strings of sugar catching in between her fingers like spiderwebs. 

A part of him didn’t want to share this untainted memory with Potter. Still, Draco knew his mother would appreciate the gesture of good faith, and a larger part of Draco never wanted to eat madeleines without caramel ever again, for fear of forgetting something so untarnished and precious. 

He sighed, and the internal battle had been won. He was going to make the bloody caramel. Draco barely paid attention to what he was doing; he had made it so many times. Once finished, he put a stasis charm on the bowl he transferred the caramel into and flitted around the house for the last 30 minutes, making sure everything was in order, and made a pot of tea in Aunt Andromeda’s teapot. 

Draco set the table, placing the tea, madeleines, and caramel on the table. Right at 3, the wards went off, and Draco groaned. Sure he knew it was happening, but for it to actually happen was nerve-wracking. Was he really inviting Potter into his little haven?? 

For Edward, he muttered and relaxed the wards to let Potter in. 

After a couple of beats, there was a loud knock on the door, and Draco went to open the door. They both stared at each other, unsure of what to say. Potter looked bad. He had purple thumbprint depressions under his eyes; his skin had lost all color in favor of an unhealthy pallor. His hair was wilder than Draco had ever seen, and his posture was atrocious. Draco shook off the discomfiture and said, “Nice to see you, come in.” 

They walked in silence, tangible, and so, so awkward _.  _ Draco could feel Potter’s eyes on him, intense and again, fucking  _ awkward _ . What was going on?? Eventually, they got to the kitchen, and Draco said, “Take a seat. Would you like some tea?”

Potter replied in a tense, gravelly voice, “Sure.”

Draco weakly smiled and brought over the tea. It was only because of the impeccable manners his mother instilled in him that he managed to pour the tea, serve some madeleines, and begin to sip and eat his portion. 

“So-”

“About Teddy-” 

They both started at the same time, the strained air tensing even further. 

“You go first,” Draco said.

“Uh, sure. Um, why aren’t you letting me take Teddy? Why do you even want him?”

Draco arched an eyebrow and replied, “You are in no way fit to care for a toddler.”

“And you are??” 

“Yes.” 

“He doesn’t need your blood purity bullshit! I’m not letting my godson turn into a blood-supremacist bully.”

Draco set his teacup down onto the saucer and replied, “Not only have I been cleared of all charges and paid war reparations, but I haven’t held those views in quite some times.”

“Well, what about your little friends and family? I don’t want Teddy around blood purists!”

“H-have you read the news??”

“What?”

“They’re all dead, Potter. Aunt Bella, Father, Pansy, Crabbe, Mother, they’re all dead.”

“W-what?”

“Yes. I am the last surviving Malfoy and the last surviving Black, well besides you, but you aren’t blood.”

Potter just stared at him, as if this was news to him, and perhaps it was. Draco sipped his tea. 

“What I find more worrying is your mental health and where you live.”

“And why would that be a concern of yours?” Potter asked acidly.

Draco looked at him flatly, “We both had to get cleared by a Mind Healer if you remember, and somehow, I am in a better place compared to you--I’ve even stopped cutting. Edward needs a stable home. We also both had our homes evaluated, and again, I am doing better than you. I am sure you would provide a happy one, but I am worried. You need to take some time and grieve and get yourself in a better place before you can even think of kids.”

“I am perfectly stable!”

“Really? How are the nightmares?”

Potter just glared at him before responding scathingly, “Yours probably aren’t any better. At least I don’t self-harm.”

Draco just looked at him sadly, “Self-isolation and sleep-deprivation count as self-harm too, and I haven’t cut since Luna covered up the Dark Mark.”

“Huh?”

“Would you like to see?”

Potter just looked at him, confused and a little rankled. In response, Draco just pulled up his sleeve and showed the faded Dark Mark with flowers intertwined, and if one looked very close, thin white lines crisscrossed all over. 

“I don’t cut because it would be such a shame to ruin Luna’s hard work.”

Silence hung like a wet rag for one beat, then another. 

“Y-you’ve changed.”

“We all have. We all needed to.”

At that admission, Potter just put his head in his hands and raked one through his hair, making it stick up near vertically. Quietly, Potter admitted, “Why does everything keep changing? The Weasely’s ‘ave all changed, ‘Mione’s changed, Neville’s changed, everything has fucking changed, and I’m just so lost.”

“Po-Harry, it’s okay that things are changing, and this is why I think you need to put yourself first and take care of yourself and let me care for Teddy. I’m not taking him away from you. I’m just asking that you let me do the parenting, and you can be the godfather.”

That proved to be too much for the man across Draco as his shoulders shook. Draco was unsure of what to do, so he filled Po-Harry’s teacup and pressed it into his hands. Harry took a shuddering breath and drank the tea. 

“I just want to be what Sirius was going to be for me.”

“And you can, Harry, you can buy presents, and teach him how to ride a broom, just let me be the one to change his nappies and pick him up when he falls and provide a stable home for him.”

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you.”

“I am.”

“And you aren’t going to let up?”

“No.”

Harry set his teacup down and took a bite of a madeleine. He sighed and said, “Do you really think you’ll be a better parent?”

“Yes. Now the question is, do you?”

Harry rubbed his eyes and sighed again. 

“I s’ppose there’s only one choice. I mean, I can barely get up in the morning. I don’t know how I’d take care of Teddy.”

In lieu of an answer, Draco dipped his madeleine in caramel and ate it, licking his fingers. Harry stared at him like he had announced he was secretly an acromantacula pretending to be a human. 

“What?? This is how Mother ate madeleines.”

If possible, Harry looked more stunned than before, his eyes bugging out. Draco just rolled his eyes and sipped his tea. 

“Have you made a decision?” Draco asked.

“Yeah. I uh, I’ll write a letter to the court when I get home. Just, can I have visitation rights?”

“A-are you serious?? You thought I was going to revoke visitation rights? I don't even think they’d let me. And Teddy deserves a godfather--I had one, so should he.”

“Good, uh, that’s good.” 

Now at an impasse, both men were unsure of what to do. 

“Tea?” Draco offered.

“Uh, no, thank you,” Harry says, looking at his busted muggle watch, “I actually have to get going. I’ll owl you later.” He rushed out the door, leaving a stunned Draco, holding a teapot whose owlish eyes went wide with disbelief. 

Draco blinked, utterly bewildered by how the afternoon had gone. Draco was so, entirely confused. That was not how it was supposed to go. But, Draco reasoned with himself, how did he think it was going to go? To that, he didn’t have the answer. 

Draco ran a hand through his hair. He groaned. Now that  _ that _ was settled, he supposed he needed to go shopping. What did an 18-month-old need?? And he really needed to write a letter to Luna. He took a slow breath in through his nose and summoned parchment, ink, and a quill. Draco penned a letter to Luna and handed it to Papillon. Papillon affectionately nipped his finger, so Draco  _ Accioed _ some cubed chicken and gave it to her. 

With the excess parchment, he was about to write a letter, but to who? Ink dripped onto the paper as he pondered that. He crumpled it up and threw it into the fire. It looked like he was on his own for this, so he summoned all the books on childcare. He looked down, unamused at the two paltry books on his desk in front of him. Not only were they small, but they were likely outdated by several centuries. He groaned. It looked like he had to do this the hard way. 

Draco summoned the Daily Prophet and flipped to the family advice page. No, he didn’t need advice on unruly teens, nor did he have a pregnant wife to care for. Aha! The list of books available for mail order. He found six titles that would help him, and on a whim, decided to subscribe to the advice column, _Teagan’s_ _Toddler Tips._ He scrawled a brief letter to the Prophet’s mail-order partner and listed the books he wished to receive. 

The rest of the evening and the subsequent week passed in a haze of purchasing infant/toddler things, legal paperwork, social workers from the Department of Children and Family Services, and planning (planning meals, days, routines, and get-togethers). Planning gave him a semblance of control. Then, like magic itself took a breath, the world paused, and it was just Draco standing in the newly decorated guest room--Teddy’s room watching little Teddy sleeping in his crib. 

Teddy’s features had relaxed into his natural ones, tawny brown, a button nose, and a light dusting of freckles. Draco sighed and sat in the armchair next to the crib. He knew he had to get some sleep, Teddy would be up, and he needed to be well prepared for the new life ahead of him. He stood up and stretched out his limbs, joints crackling, and went off to bed after double-checking the baby monitor. Draco fell asleep, unsure of what the future would bring, but certain it would be worthwhile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be adding fluffy drabbles of Dad! Draco and Teddy and Harry sometime soon, when I feel like writing fluff.


	2. Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here are the promised drabbles!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they aren't tooth-rottingly fluffy, but I tried, I really did. Also, I based these on how I'd parent or how I was raised, so if this seems super OOC or self-insert-y that's why.

Why Draco had ever wanted a child was absolutely beyond him. All he wanted was one full night of sleep. One! That was not a lot to ask!! It was because little Teddy (though he wasn’t to blame for every night, the night terrors had not miraculously disappeared) could not sleep through the night without being held. 

Teddy didn’t want to wait for Draco’s moping to end, so he continued his loud wails till Draco dragged himself out of his warm, comfortable bed and padded over to Teddy’s room. 

He sedately strode into the room, cast a _caerulumos,_ and scooped up little Teddy in his arms. Immediately Teddy calmed and stared up at him with big, brown doe eyes and sandy brown hair that morphed into blonde and grey. Despite his irritation and his weariness, he smiled down at the baby in his arms. 

Softly Draco began to hum, rocking Teddy back and forth in his arms. Teddy’s eyes adamantly remained open, so Draco started to sing the words. 

_Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_

Teddy’s eyelids fluttered as the Pavlovian response to Draco’s soothing cadence began to take over his mind. Draco’s eyes crinkled with fondness, and he thought his heart would burst with the love he felt for Teddy. 

_Sing parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme._

Teddy yawned a little and cooed, lethargy overtaking his tiny frame. 

_Remember me, the one who lives there._

Draco’s soft timbre continued to sing the little ditty his mother would sing for him. How funny life turned out. He didn’t give a rats arse about which fork he needed to use or how to introduce himself formally, but the kindness that had been crushed and the lullabies he was deemed too old for at age 5 were some of his most cherished childhood memories. 

_For she once was a true love of mine._

As he sang the last verse, Teddy fell back into a deep sleep, hopefully for the rest of the night. Draco lightly kissed Teddy on his forehead and set him down in his crib, checking the monitoring charms. Standing in the door frame, he watched Teddy’s chest rise and fall as he breathed. Draco cast a _tempus_ and noticed he had only a couple of hours till he had to be up, so he shook his head and went back to sleep. 

__________________________________________

“Darling, you have to eat them.”

“No.”

“That wasn’t a question, honey, you have to eat them.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Teddy, darling, sweetheart, why won’t you eat your sweet potatoes? You love sweet potatoes.”

“Is too spicy.”

“...”

“I no eat spicy food!”

“Minou, these aren’t spicy.”

“Is red. Is spicy.”

“I’m not lying meine liebchen, try them.”

“No!”

Sensing the beginnings of a tantrum, Draco was beginning to get a little panicked. How was he supposed to get Teddy to eat his food if he refused?? He breathed in through his nose and forcibly reminded himself that he was a Slytherin; he was not about to get outfoxed by a two-year-old. 

“If I prove these aren’t spicy, will you eat them?”

Teddy paused as if contemplating what to do with this new information before bobbing his head up and down in a vigorous nod. Draco softly smiled, his lousy mood evaporating. He then took a bite of the sweet potatoes and said, “See bambino, it isn’t spicy.”

Teddy’s hair turned a raucous rainbow of colors, and he made grabbing motions with his chubby hands. Draco’s smile widened, and he began to finally, finally feed the sweet potatoes to Teddy. 

__________________________________________

“Potions or baking?”

“Potions!” 

“Of course, darling. How about we make Bubble Body Extract?”

“Wassit do Papa.”

“W-what did you say?”

Teddy looked up at him with big, purple eyes wide with emotion that Draco couldn’t identify and repeated himself very slowly as if Draco was obtuse, “What does it do, Papa?”

Draco wasn’t sure of what to do. There wasn’t a manual for these kinds of things. Did Teddy not remember Tonks and Lupin? Was Draco wrong for thinking of Teddy like his own son? Sure, Teddy wasn’t his biologically, and he only began to raise him when he was 18 months, but Teddy was now 2 and a half. So, Draco decided to ask, “You know I’m not your real Papa, right?”

Teddy scrunched up his face, and his hair turned a violent red. “What d’you mean Papa? You’s my Papa, and I gots a Mama an’ a Daddy, but they gone now. You’s my Papa now!”

Draco blinked. Then a slow smile bloomed on his face. He beamed at Teddy and picked up the little boy, swinging him around. Teddy let out peals of laughter, and his hair began flashing pinks, blues, and purples. Draco held him tight to his chest and dropped a kiss on the crown of his head. He set Teddy down after a bit and said, “Alright munchkin, let’s go brew Bubble Body Extract, shall we?”

__________________________________________

Teddy was taking his afternoon nap, and Draco was panicking. Sitting on his desk were four letters, one from the potions apprenticeship he applied to, one from Luna Lovegood, one from a very unexpected Hermione Granger, and the last from one Harry Potter. 

He took a deep breath and picked up the letter from Concord Tixtion. Over the past year, he had applied to no less than 27 apprenticeships for Potions and Charms and was rejected from each one. Apparently, his near-perfect NEWTS were not good enough to cover up his dark-mark. This was the last potions master in the UK, so if he was rejected, he would have to look outwards towards America and the rest of Europe. 

Draco took another breath, tried to calm his racing heart, and opened the message. He scanned for the words and almost shouted for joy. He excitedly read out his acceptance letter to himself, “Lord Malfoy, myself and my team were most excited to receive your application. Your NEWTS seem to be in perfect order, and your 12” admissions essay was well thought out and succinct. You will find that my team and I are reasonably informal and quite like a family. We have no tolerance for bigotry from anyone. Please owl back if you would like to accept the position of Junior Potions Apprentice to Potions Master Concord Tixtion.”

Draco laughed, almost hysterically, overcome with relief. He slumped into his chair and beamed up at the ceiling. He had been stuck in a loop of applications and rejections for the better part of the year, which had been rather horrific for his mental health. The first rejection had been expected. They had written a very kind letter citing past traumas were not beneficial for an educational work environment (the other apprentice’s mother had been slaughtered by Death Eaters. It was assumed that the murderer was his father). 

He had been rather glad for that rejection, but by the tenth rejection, this one riddled with accusations, horrible, horrible words, and offensive comments about his sexuality (how that became common knowledge, it was beyond Draco), he broke down and sobbed. 

How long would he have to suffer for his past mistakes? How long must he atone to each and every individual? Why weren’t his actions enough? Draco had been a child, warped by his family’s views into a disgusting mockery of a boy, but he had paid war reparations, donated to charities, and raised his son to the best of his abilities. How much more did they want from him? 

That had been a rather humiliating experience that was exacerbated by Teddy toddling into the room and saying, “Papa no cry” and patting his cheeks with chubby hands and calling out for Harry, who had been babysitting when Draco began to hyperventilate. Harry took Teddy into another room, and Draco assumed he had been left to deal with his panic on his own, but Harry had just put Teddy in his play place to better help Draco. 

He had come back and taken the crumpled letter out from Draco’s trembling hands and scanned it, understanding painfully clear on his face. Harry calmly talked Draco out of his panic attack and into a more relaxed state with a practiced air. That day, while painful to recall, had splintered the wall of unsureness and awkwardness that had persisted for over a year. They still weren’t entirely sure how to work together just yet, but that would be remedied by a few late nights with a bottle of firewhiskey, talking about their shared pasts, while Teddy was being watched by Luna. 

Thinking about Luna shook him out of reminiscing and back into the real world. He still had a couple letters to get through, so he smiled and began to read. 

__________________________________________

“Uncle ‘Awwy!!” Shouted Teddy as he ran up to the much healthier looking Harry who stood awkwardly on the porch. 

Harry picked Teddy up in a giant hug and swung the toddler around, chuckling as Teddy squealed, and his hair turned a brilliant fuchsia. Draco followed Teddy, much more sedately, and greeted Harry with a smile. 

“How have you been?” Draco asked. 

“Oh, you know. I’ve been swamped. I took my NEWTS, and I retook my OWLS, so now I can get any job I want without relying on my ‘Boy-Who-Lived-Twice’ status. Ginny and I have been cleaning out Grimmauld Place, and we’re going to bond with a new house-elf since Kreacher died. Hermione’s been all fussy about that, but Ron’s been explaining to her how they’re symbiotes.” 

“Wow, you have been busy.”

Harry chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and asked, “What about you? How has this little devil been?” 

Jostling Teddy when he mentioned him. Teddy giggled, his eyes turning green and his hair melting into a two-toned curly hairdo. Draco looked on appreciatively at the blonde and black curls. 

“He’s been helping me set up the garden for summer. His French is improving, and he really wants a snake, so he’s been bugging me about that. Haven’t you, Teddy.” 

Teddy giggled and hid his face behind pudgy fingers. Harry smiled and said, “Snakes are a lot of work, and you are very young to have a snake. Maybe just stick with a family owl for now, but when you’re older, I can help you get a snake--I can speak to them, you know.”

Teddy looked up at Harry with something akin to hero-worship in his eyes and planted a sloppy kiss on Harry’s cheek. They all laughed, and Draco led them to the picnic table where sandwiches, fruit salad, and chips were put under a stasis charm.

“This looks really good, Draco!” Harry commented while he made himself and Teddy plates. 

Happiness looked good on Harry, Draco noted. Now that he knew what good mental health looked like on Harry, Draco was unsure if the man had ever been truly happy (he hadn’t, not while being abused or constantly battling for his life as a child). 

Draco sat back and observed both Teddy and Harry. Teddy was giving an attitude about eating, so Harry was playing “here comes the firebolt” with the fruit salad. Draco softly smiled at the domesticity of it all. If only Harry was more than just a friend.

Wait. 

Where did that thought come from???

He flushed and muttered something about forgetting sun charms and walked back inside the cottage. Draco mentally berated himself. He wasn’t going to fuck this up--he wasn’t. He stared in the mirror and willed his flushed cheeks to cool down before Draco headed back outside with a practiced, easy smile. Harry saw right through it and quirked an eyebrow in question, but Draco waved him off in favor of eating his sandwich. He had been given a second chance; he wasn’t going to fuck it all up because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

__________________________________________

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed these as much as I liked writing them! Obviously, I left it on a cliffhanger because I can't be nice, but let me know if you liked these and want me to continue (following Teddy and Draco and Harry as Teddy gets older).


	3. Drabbles 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought this fic was finished? Neverrrrrrr! Anyway, I was in the mood to recount various childhood stories of mine and write something very fluffy and fun, so here we are!
> 
> PSA: I wrote some notes on each of the drabbles, and one of them is about Draco and Hermione and that sort of thing. It's very long and ramble-y and it talks about my idea of forgiveness. I am white and though I am lesbian and a girl, my white privilege takes a precedent over anything else, so understand it is written through that lens.

Draco had woken up at 7 am and went to Teddy’s room to wake him up, but was alarmed to see Teddy’s room was empty, and his sheets were cold. 

“Teddy, darling, where are you?” Draco called, walking from room to room, and then he entered the kitchen. He stared, horrified, at four-year-old Teddy, who had somehow managed to find every single egg in the house (well over three dozen chicken and various potions eggs). Teddy not only found them but was in the process of cracking them all on the floor and using them as a sort of slip n’ slide.  _ Morgana’s tits.  _

Ignoring Teddy’s shrieks of protest, Draco unceremoniously picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. He set Teddy in the bathtub and tried to cast a cleaning charm.  _ Oh fuck.  _ Draco tried seven different cleaning charms, but none of them worked to get the raw egg out, so tamping down a sigh, he stripped Teddy down and summoned soap. Teddy giggled and laughed out something unintelligible. 

“Use your words, darling.” 

“I don’ wanna take a bat.” 

Draco snorted before saying, “It’s bath, dear. Ba-a-thh.” 

“Baa.”

“Ba-th.” 

Turning on the water, Draco filled the tub up halfway, scrubbing down Teddy with a washcloth, continuing to fix Teddy’s pronunciation. Draco lathered up Teddy’s lavender hair, which was gummy with egg yolk. Teddy hummed and leaned into it like a cat, and Draco smiled fondly at his son. 

He said, “Close your eyes, love,” before dumping a conjured bowl of water on Teddy’s head. Teddy shrieked and splashed water all over, giggling with surprise. Thankfully he didn’t get any soap in his eyes -- one time, he did, and Teddy would not stop crying for an hour, sobbing about the pain. Though Draco had performed very, very careful legilimency and the tantrum was more due to shock and tiredness than actual pain. 

Once Teddy was squeaky clean, Draco bundled him up in a fluffy towel and carried him to his room, humming and nodding along with Teddy’s rambling. Draco had heard horror stories of being unable to dress toddlers and preschoolers, but Teddy was on the opposite side of the spectrum, and while it was a little frustrating at times, Draco was beyond grateful for it. Teddy’s fashionista nature meant that he not only loved dressing up but could often dress himself, which was beyond helpful. 

The now bright pink four-year-old grabbed a rainbow shirt and neon green pants. Draco looked on bemusedly before gating Teddy’s room, leaving a stack of books, and heading to the kitchen. Teddy could amuse himself for thirty minutes while Draco cleaned up the Merlin-damned eggs all over the floor. 

He cast charm after charm after charm, and none of it was  _ fucking working.  _ Draco scrubbed his face before leafing through his memories and trying the last couple of cleaning charms he could remember. Finally,  _ finally,  _ he found one for baking-specific cleaning, and it worked. Draco laughed in relief and went to fetch Teddy to make breakfast. 

__________________________________________

Teddy was pouting at his clothes, which was rather unusual, and he refused to tell Draco what was going on, which was even more unusual. His hair was long, straight, and strawberry blonde, and his skin was lighter than Draco’s. 

“Teddy, darling, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Draco asked, cajolingly. 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“You are in your underwear, and we have to leave the house in fifteen minutes. You really need to put clothes on. What’s going on?” 

“I don't wanna!” 

Draco massaged his temples and prayed to Mother Magic for some strength. 

“Teddy, can you please tell me what is wrong.” 

Tears welled up in Teddy’s eyes as he stared forlornly at the corduroy overalls and blue, cotton t-shirt. He picked them up and threw them on the ground, his hair gaining pink and maroon streaks. 

Then an idea struck Draco. He remembered that metamorphmagus’ were usually genderfluid, so perhaps Teddy didn’t want to be a boy today and didn’t know how to vocalize it. Following that train of thought, Draco transfigured the t-shirt to a t-shirt dress and added a flowery headband for good measure. 

In a soft voice, he asked a sniffling Teddy, “Is this better liebchen?” 

Teddy nodded and pulled the dress on. The last time Draco had done a girl’s hair was with Pansy, so as he brushed Teddy’s long hair and french-braided it, he took the time to mourn Pansy -- the bigoted, sarcastic, funny, cruel, and intelligent girl that she was. When Draco was finished, he put on the flowery headband, helped Teddy pull on his (her’s? Draco would have to ask) socks, and quickly transfigured white mary janes. 

“Teddy, since you’re wearing a dress, do you want to be a girl today?” 

Teddy hesitantly nodded before saying, “Papa, I like being a boy, but today I don’t wanna. I wanna be a girl. I-is that okay?” 

“That is more than okay, Teddy,” Draco said, beaming. He continued, “We can even go buy some dresses after our picnic with Luna.” 

Teddy giggled, gapped teeth showing, before bouncing up and leading Draco out the door, quite excited for her picnic with Luna. 

__________________________________________

_ Sweet Circe,  _ Draco thought, while reading the latest headline of the  _ Daily Prophet _ . He mumbled out the rest of the article, scanning each line with befuddlement. Now, he had thought he was high enough on both Harry and Luna’s friendship totem poles for them to at least have the decency to tell him before they published their love life in the  _ Daily Prophet _ \-- not even the  _ Quibbler _ ! 

“Quidditch Star Ginny Weasley Leaves Boy-Who-Lived For Quibbler Journalist Luna Lovegood,” said the article. It included quotes from Weasley, Harry, and Luna, which couldn’t be faked due to the impressive lawyers on each of their payrolls, so why hadn’t Draco been informed? 

While he was wallowing in the mistrust of his friends, his floo lit up a vibrant green, and Hermione stepped out. 

Now, Draco would have been perfectly fine to live and let live in regards to Hermione. He had called her slurs, mocked and belittled her for something out of her control, and just generally had been genuinely horrid to her throughout their Hogwarts years, but Hermione was determined not to leave any loose ends behind. Seeing how Draco had changed and was continually evolving past his old prejudices, Hermione had forgiven him (but not forgot). 

Draco didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but perhaps that was the whole point. He didn’t want her forgiveness -- had apologized not out of wanting to be absolved of his sins, but for her to have some sort of closure. In spite (or quite possibly because of that), she had forgiven him in an astonishing show of grace and goodness. 

Not only had she forgiven him, but she went out of her way to forge a relationship with him. Over a string of letters, meetups with Teddy and the Weasley brood (plus Luna, Harry, and Neville), and intense debates over trivial aspects of magic theory, they created a unique friendship that was quite nice. But Draco was distracted, so he turned his attention to the real-life Hermione and raised an eyebrow in question. 

He then took in all the details of Hermione, namely her furious expression, unkempt appearance, and the crackling lightning throughout her hair (after her magical maturity, her anger made itself known by electricity). 

“Are you alright, Hermione?” 

She opened her mouth as if to answer, before pausing, taking a deep breath, and saying, “No, I’m not alright.” 

Draco had an idea of what she was about to say but still questioned, “Would you like to elaborate?” 

“Did you know about this?” Hermione asked, referencing the paper still in Draco’s hand. 

“I did not.” 

Hermione huffed incredulously and replied, “Well, neither did Ron, Neville, any of the Weasleys, or me. I thought maybe Harry or Luna would have told you, but apparently, they’re all too good for us! Practically -- or actually -- family, and we have to find this all out from the Prophet!” 

Draco set the newspaper down and tiredly rubbed his face. “I thought they would have maybe told somebody before they published this. I wish they did. The fallout is going to be massive. Does Mrs. Weasley know yet?” 

“I do believe she told you to call her Molly, but yes, she already knows, and she is quite mad that Ginny and Harry didn’t tell her. You should have heard her, going all on about how she should know her children’s love life before the rest of the damn wizarding world.” 

Draco snorted and was about to reply when a sleepy Teddy stumbled in. Draco checked the time, and it was right when Teddy got up, so he shouldn’t have been startled. 

“G’mornin Papa,” Teddy said, stifling a yawn with his basilisk plushie. 

“Good morning, serpiencito. We have a guest today. Would you like to say hello?” 

At this, Teddy whipped his head around, looking for the guest, and once he saw her, he dropped his plushie and ran towards her yelling, “Aunt ‘Mione!” 

Hermione’s bad mood evaporated as she picked Teddy up and swung him around. Draco smiled at the sight and turned his attention to his floo that had lit up viridian again. 

Potter. 

And Luna and Ginny. 

They looked quite contrite and apologetic. Ginny was sporting a rather brilliant blush, and Harry was rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. Luna was anxiously twisting a cork necklace in her hands. The presence of Teddy was the only thing keeping Hermione from completely losing her cool at them, so instead of her electric anger, they were faced with Draco’s patented Slytherin frigidity. 

“How nice of you all to join us,” said Draco. 

Harry winced -- he had never been good at dealing with disappointment. 

Luna said, “Hello Draco, Hermione, Teddy,” in a quiet voice, and Ginny didn’t say anything at all. 

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and got up to make breakfast for Teddy. “Why?” he asked. 

Harry quickly took the blame and said, “It was my idea.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“I- uh. Yeah. It was Ginny’s idea.” 

“That makes sense; neither of you would refuse her,” inserted Hermione. 

Teddy was very confused by what was happening, so he just ignored it and pestered Draco over what was for breakfast. 

“Eggs and toast, sweetheart,” Draco said for the fifth time, while Hermione and Ginny were whisper-shouting, and Harry and Luna stood there, anxiously. 

Merlin, this was a mess, but at the same time, Draco couldn’t help but be glad that Harry was now single. 

__________________________________________

  
  


Harry was visiting today, so Draco was cooking dinner with five-year-old Teddy’s ‘help.’ They had made cookie dough earlier, so cookies were baking in the oven. Teddy was drawing with crayons while occasionally helping Draco stir or fetch ingredients. 

Draco was making one of Harry’s favorite dishes since he had gathered up all his Gryffindor courage. After almost four years, he was going to ask Harry out (and possibly to move in, since he practically lived there already). He had already gone over this with Teddy and informed him of what could happen. With the ambivalence only a child could manage, Teddy just nodded and continued to read a book on herpetology (he was still stuck on getting a snake). Perhaps if Harry moved in, they could finally get a snake, Draco mused. He shook himself out of his thoughts, checked on Teddy, who was still drawing a runespoor. 

Harry was due any minute, so Draco took the last of the cookies out of the oven, set them on the cooling rack, and stirred his pot of elayachi gosht. He refreshed the warming charm on the rice just as Harry walked in the door, calling out, “Honey, I’m home!” 

Something inside of Draco felt warm and squirmy hearing Harry refer to the cottage as home, and he turned around with a smile to see Teddy being spun around as laughter rang out. He decided to ignore his ten-step plan and walked up to Harry and planted a chaste kiss on his lips before smiling and saying, “Welcome home.” Draco turned back to the stove, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he was stopped by Harry grabbing his wrists and pulling him into a searing kiss. They were broken apart by a huffing Teddy whose hair was flashing between dandelion happiness and moss green disgust. 

Harry and Draco laughed, and though they would definitely have to talk about this new development, they had all the time in the world, so they just chatted, laughed, and ate delicious food, reveling in each other’s company. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes: 
> 
> -Yes, the first story actually happened with me and my little brother (we were 4 and 2, respectively), and it was only about a dozen or so eggs, but by God was it a mess.
> 
> \- I headcanon Metamorphagus' as genderfluid, so there are the beginnings of Teddy wanting to not just be a boy. Draco is a lil confused at first, but once he knows what's going on, he is/will be very supportive (same with Harry, obviously). 
> 
> \- I have a lot of thoughts on Draco and Hermione. The main issue I have with Dramione is that Draco did not see them as equals and constantly called her slurs, brutally bullied her, and was generally a racist piece of shit. His being a teenager does not absolve him of those crimes nor does 'his daddy was mean and racist too.' Drarry is a little different because Draco saw them as equals and didn't, you know, constantly hate-crime Harry. 
> 
> I had Hermione forgive Draco not because he deserves it (objectively he doesn't, even within this fic, she has every right to tell him to go fuck himself and live her life) but because he doesn't. Forgiveness is really given arbitrarily, and usually to help the one giving the forgiveness. Hermione is gifting him this forgiveness out of a mixture of pity and a want to leave everything behind. She doesn't need to but she does anyway because that is the best healing process for her. She absolutely wouldn't have if he apologized out of self-serving desires, but she also forgave him for herself. 
> 
> Also, everyone should have compassion and care for people, but POC (and other marginalized groups, but muggle-borns v Death Eaters is specifically similar to racism) do not and should not have to take the high road in the context of forgiving their oppressors, which I want to make crystal clear if you misunderstood my drabble and notes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, leave a comment or come check me out on my tumblr blogs [idkwhyiexist](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/idkwhyiexist) and [crimsonpoppies](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/crimsonpoppies) if you'd like!


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